


Built a Moon for a Rocking Chair

by gremlins-came-and-got-me (Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Dark fic, F/M, Kate Argent is her own warning, Kate Dies, Paige dies, Rape, Rape of a Minor, Torture, hales die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:20:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25160758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark/pseuds/gremlins-came-and-got-me
Summary: He’s fourteen.It’s wrong.It should feel wrong.Kate doesn’t care.He’s fourteen. Just a dumb kid who thinks he’s in love.-----Kate Argent pursues a relationship with Derek Hale when he's fourteen. She knows it's wrong, but she doesn't care. Besides, he's a werewolf. There's nothing she can do that's permanent anyway. Nothing physical anyway.
Relationships: Kate Argent/Derek Hale
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	1. Kate

**Author's Note:**

> Dark story. Heed tags and warnings.
> 
> Title comes from _Sweet Sixteen_ by Billy Idol.

~ * ~

He’s fourteen.

It’s wrong.

It should feel wrong.

Kate doesn’t care.

He’s fourteen. Just a dumb kid who thinks he’s in love.

It makes it easier, sweeter to bend him, pose him. To tie his hands to the headboard and ride him hard. To bite his chest, leaving marks she knows won’t last.

There won’t be any evidence of this before she even lets him get off, and that makes it more fun.

He was so shy the first time she let him lick her. Inexperienced tongues are still better than inexperienced dicks.

She tells him all the things he does wrong, lets her moans and cries tell him what he gets right. He learns quickly. Learns that she likes two fingers deep inside with his tongue. Learns that she likes to hold him down, sit on him, suffocate him.

The first time she slipped the rope around his throat, he panicked.

It was beautiful.

He was beautiful.

She stopped just to kiss him.

Now, he doesn’t panic, so she has to hurt him more and more just to feel that same surge of warmth at holding his life in her hands.

He thinks he’s being good when he holds so still she thinks maybe the wolfsbane worked this time.

Really, she just wants to hear him scream.

Really, she just wants to ruin him.

She buys treats for him. If he can make her orgasm five times, she lets him ejaculate. If he fails, she uses a brand new vibrator on him.

If he fails to even get her to cum, she uses electricity and plants on him.

She mocks him when he starts getting hard at the smell of wolfsbane, and the shame that burns his cheeks only makes her want to hurt him more.

So she does.

~ * ~

He’s fifteen, huddled down in his seat, staring at nothing while his classmates mill around him.

He always wears a sweatshirt now, but Kate doesn’t know why. He still has no marks. She could take a candle and burn him right now, and before anyone can respond to his cries of pain, he’ll be healed.

Kate dreams about it sometimes. About what would happen if she killed him.

More often, she dreams about being caught.

She wants to know what the cops would do to a teen-fucker like her.

Would they tie her down, fuck her mercilessly, like she does to him? Or would they wrap a rope around her neck, let her suffocate past what a human can handle?

Hell, the only reason he’s still alive is because of what he is.

Would they let her go? High five him and tell him how lucky he is that a beautiful woman was so interested in him that she raped him?

He stands up suddenly, walks stiffly to the door, and vanishes down the hall.

No matter. She knows he’ll be in their spot when she gets done grading the piss-poor excuses of homework she has to collect.

Maybe she’ll let him make love to her first this time.

Maybe.

She doesn’t because he isn’t there when she gets there.

The panic she feels is unusual. Every day for the past almost two years, she’s had him under her thumb and her body. He doesn’t have it in him to rebel anymore.

She can’t exactly go looking for him, so she settles in, sharpening her knives for when he does come crawling back to her. She needs a suitable punishment.

~ * ~

He’s sixteen and he smells like smoke, like his family and their burned flesh.

He faces her, tears streaming down his face. He doesn’t ask why. Just stares at her.

She wants to tell him that it was a mistake. That the whole thing was a mistake.

But his eyes are blue when they were yellow just yesterday.

The marks from yesterday are still there too. A rope mark around his neck, a burn on his chest. A knife wound between his fifth and sixth ribs.

If she checks, she knows his cock would still be half-sliced off, healing slowly around the metal gauges she punched through his scrotum.

He’s in pain and grieving and he looks so perfect standing in front of her now.

She’s pregnant, she wants to tell him, just to see his reaction. She can’t have kids. Someone ripped out her organs when she was just a little older than him. He can have kids though. He should.

Find some nice girl or boy, someone who won’t try to make him scream instead of cum.

Someone who can ignore his blue-blue-blue eyes flickering in time to her beating heart.

“I hate you,” he says before he walks away and it is the sweetest gift he has ever given her.

She turns herself in that afternoon, tells the newly appointed sheriff about how she fucked Derek Hale from the moment he turned fourteen until just yesterday.

He puts her in a cell and then sits at his desk and cries because he has a boy younger than Derek and what if she’d done the same thing to him too? He’s starting high school this year.

Kate doesn’t answer. She can’t tell him that she only wanted Derek because of what he is, what he could take. She doesn’t say that she still wants to find him and fuck him in the backseat of his daddy’s fancy car.

She doesn’t say that she loves him.

When the time comes to do something right, Kate does.

The new sheriff finds her in the cell the next morning, her throat cut.

~ end ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: both chapters are supposed to be standalone chapters. They take place during the same time.


	2. Derek

~ * ~

He’s fourteen and the new swim coach wants him to stay after practice. Derek doesn’t know why. He’s on the basketball team, not the swim team. He doesn’t even know who else is on the swim team.

They haven’t been the same since they won State and lost their coach the next year. That was three years ago now.

Derek doesn’t swim, but he tells Coach Bonaheim that he needs to see someone about homework and then slips into the pool building.

He wrinkles his nose at the chlorine. He’s always hated that smell because even with it, he can still smell the sweat and urine underneath.

Werewolf noses are great most of the time. Derek hasn’t lost anything since about second grade, but he also had to call in sick when half his classmates went through puberty, the stench of their body odor too strong for him.

The new coach is in the water, swimming laps. Derek settles on the lowest bleacher, shivering as the cold, damp of the metal goes through his jeans.

The coach ignores him for nearly ten minutes, an eternity in Derek’s world. But he waits anyway.

When she finally climbs out, he holds his breath as she sits next to him. She smells like the pool and nothing else.

If his older sister were here, she’d tell him that it made her suspicious. Instead, Derek can’t hear anything over the blood pounding in his ears when the new coach leans in and kisses him.

Fourteen years old and having his first kiss. The new coach might be beautiful but Derek doesn’t care for blondes. Nor does he care for the breasts pushing against his own chest.

Derek pulls back, licking at his lips and hating the chlorine on them. “What was that for?” he manages to ask, voice too soft to be heard by anyone else—not that there is anyone else. He and the new coach are all alone right now.

She smiles at him and it looks dangerous, like someone took a knife and carved out space in her face, sharpening her teeth for good measure. “Just because,” she says, taking his hand.

She leads him under the bleachers and lies on top of him.

He’s awkward and uncomfortable, and her swimsuit makes him cold before she takes it off.

She doesn’t have hair there, but he does, and she says that’s what matters.

She doesn’t use a condom but tells him it’s okay.

Derek doesn’t want to do this. Thinks they’re moving way too fast, but she covers his mouth with her hand when he protests and asks nicely.

Afterward, she dresses quickly, heading for the showers, leaving him lying there, dick sticky, mouth bruised. He doesn’t feel good at all.

It didn’t feel nice, even when he ejaculated.

Derek masturbates. He knows what he likes. He doesn’t like some older woman climbing on him and using him like a dildo.

He stands up, hefts his backpack over his shoulder, and stumbles home.

Mom and Dad aren’t home, and Laura and Peter are fighting over the TV remote. Cora is in the kitchen when Derek slips in. She eyes him oddly, but he’s fourteen and she’s eight, and she’s only just coming into her nose.

He gets out a snack for her, and then heads upstairs to shower for as long as Laura lets him.

Next day at school, he finds the new coach in his English class. He sinks into his chair and stays quiet the whole hour. He’s a good student with decent grades, but he isn’t head of the class, so he usually goes unnoticed.

The coach must be trying to hide what happened yesterday because she completely ignores him. Until everyone has left and she asks to see him again in the pool building.

Derek makes excuses about practice and homework and barely escapes.

The next fifteen days, he isn’t so lucky, and the new coach uses him under the bleachers, and then Coach Bonaheim says Coach Argent asked for Derek to transfer to the swim team.

So now, Coach Argent fucks Derek at her home after swim practice.

She hurts him now, tells him it’s because of what he is. That he’s a monster who deserves to have his balls nearly ripped off, to have his air limited, to have larger and larger things pressed into his asshole just because he can’t remember that he’s supposed to bite her gently before tonguing her deeply while he tries to finger her to completion.

Derek is a monster because she says he is.

He forces himself to tolerate the pain, but every night, listening to his family happy and healthy, he cries.

~ * ~

He’s fifteen and he finally makes a friend.

She’s a girl. Long brown hair, bright brown eyes. Carries her cello with her everywhere. Derek starts carrying it for her because it’s nothing to him to heft it over his head and hold it out of the way of ignorant students slamming into them.

Paige eats lunch when Derek reminds her, and she notices, but doesn’t say anything, when he doesn’t.

For the first time since Coach Argent—“Call me Kate, or Mistress”—started fucking with him, Derek has something to smile about.

And then Coach Argent increases the pain again.

She burns him, cuts him, packs his wounds full of wolfsbane, leaves plugs and sounds in him. Smokes cigars and draws a pattern on his skin.

Derek fights to keep all his screams inside.

He knows she hurts him more when he does that, but he’s been trying to keep her secret for her for so long that he doesn’t think he can’t not do it.

Sometimes his injuries don’t heal until long after he’s home.

Mom and Dad look at him suspiciously but he doesn’t know how to tell them about Coach Argent.

There was a kid on the news a few weeks ago. Derek’s age. His teacher slept with him too, although Derek doubts that his teacher tortured him like Coach Argent does.

There was no discussion in the house aside from Peter and his dad saying that the kid was lucky, so goddamned lucky that his forty-year-old teacher wanted his scrawny ass.

Derek doesn’t stay in the same room as them anymore.

He doesn’t feel lucky.

And it’s getting harder to keep going to school, pretending that he doesn’t have to face his worst nightmare every day.

Paige pulls him aside one day, presses a bulletin into his hand, glances to where Coach Argent is pretending to not watch them, and tells him that he isn’t alone.

Derek ducks into the bathroom and unfolds the paper.

It’s about sexual assault. Numbers to call, people to talk to.

He crumples it and flushes it.

All through the rest of the day, he can’t get it out of his head, and it isn’t until he drops facedown onto his bed that he realizes that not only did he walk out of class, but he also didn’t go to Coach Argent’s house.

He can’t breathe through the crushing weight on his chest, his throat closed, fingers and toes numbing as he struggles to push himself upright.

He’s drowning with no water in his lungs.

He survived Coach Argent’s abuse only to die of panic. The irony would make him laugh if he had any breath at all.

Suddenly Mom is there, hand heavy on the back of his neck, her nose pressed against his jaw.

She’s talking, but he can’t hear her, blood rushing in his ears. He hiccups a bit of air, managing a small gasp, and Mom makes a positive sound, encouraging him to keep doing that.

They stay curled together long after Derek’s breathing settled. He doesn’t often let others touch him anymore, disliking the way his skin crawls even after it’s healed from the burns and marks.

Mom finally sits up, running her hand over his hair. “Feel up to eating?”

He shakes his head, an excuse about homework spilling from his lips.

She doesn’t look like she believes him, and Derek wishes she’d say something. She doesn’t though, nodding and standing up.

She tells him to let her know if he does get hungry, and then she leaves his door wide open behind her.

He stumbles up to close it.

Cora peeks at him from her own room. She’s got the end of one braid in her mouth, chewing on it. She looks like she was crying. He flashes her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. She slams her door shut.

Derek rolls his shoulders, gently closing his own door. He sits down at his desk and then lets his head fall forward.

He manages to go a whole week without being cornered by Coach Argent.

His luck runs out when Laura comes back for a visit from college and the roughhousing gets too much for him.

Coach Argent finds him walking alone by Makeout Point. She stabs a cattle prod under his arm before he can run, and he wakes up tied to her bed, his balls in a vise and his stomach flayed open.

He screams for the first time in months, and she stops, head cocked, smiling down at him like he’s making the sweetest sound.

He knows then, that she will kill him.

It may not be today or tomorrow, but one day she would go too far just to hear him scream, and he would die, body taxed beyond what a werewolf can heal.

He wishes she would do it now.

~ * ~

He’s sixteen, standing by the side of the road, shivering because he’s lost too much blood.

He sticks his thumb out, watching the passing vehicles with disinterest. He doesn’t care if he never goes home again.

Finally, the Sheriff, recently elected, pulls over, lets him crawl in the back seat. “You live up to road a bit, don’t you?” he asks rhetorically.

Derek was halfway home, heading that way, so he nods. Then he leans back, closes his eyes, and focuses on healing.

The Sheriff drops him at his door, says something about if he ever wants to talk, and then speeds off when Peter comes out on the porch.

Peter takes him by the arm, says he wants to show him something.

Two hours later, Paige is dead, there’s a full on war between a group of hunters and a pack of werewolves, and Derek’s eyes have changed color.

He didn’t kill Paige but it feels like he did.

Peter keeps him upright with a solid grip on his shoulder, steering him back home. Mom’s waiting for them. She sends Peter in, stops Derek, makes him flash his new eyes.

She shakes her head, disappointed but not surprised.

He trudges up to his room, throws himself on his bed, and smells the wolfsbane tucked under his pillow.

He sits up, scrambles downstairs, stutters to his mom, and they all get herded into the basement.

It’s a trap.

And the only reason Derek survives is because Coach Argent moved a piece of mountain ash, tugged him out, and replaced it before his mom could get to them.

Coach Argent looks at him like he’s a prize she’s just won, and Derek has had enough. Two years of torture is enough.

His family is dead, burned alive, and his abuser is waiting to sweep him away.

“I hate you,” he says and walks away. He doesn’t care if she kills him too. It’d be better than surviving anyway. She doesn’t do anything to him. Not then.

Laura comes back from college to take care of him. She doesn’t blame him, but he thinks she should. He blames himself. He should have been stronger, shouldn’t have kept Coach Argent a secret.

And then the news of Kate’s death comes. And it brings no relief.

~ end ~


End file.
